


Well-Wrapped

by freakylemurcat



Series: Collar and Cuffs [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Play, Anal Plug, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Butt Plugs, Chastity Device, Creampie, Cuddling & Snuggling, Double Penetration, Dry Orgasm, Genital Piercing, M/M, Master/Pet, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Subspace, Threesome - M/M/M, Valve Play (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: Prowl has a gift to give. It’s not readily clear who the recipient actually is.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Series: Collar and Cuffs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578811
Comments: 13
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of the Master/Pet scenes from Flexibility

Jazz had been relaxing quietly, attempting to rewire a blown speaker, when Prowl had entered their quarters with a package and made a beeline for their berth room. He had thought little of it, given he was in the middle of replacing a particularly fiddly magnet, until Prowl returned with both servos behind his back. 

"Do me a favour," he said, "Pick your favourite." 

He held out one hand, and displayed the contents. Jazz peered over and blinked in confusion. Two short clipped lengths of metal ribbon were in his palm. 

Jazz had not gotten where he had in life answering questions blindly. "Why?" 

Prowl offered that smile he had when he was being cunning. It shouldn't have been as attractive as it was. "That would spoil the surprise. Pick one." 

Setting down his repair tools, Jazz leant in and considered. One ribbon was a bright crimson red, golden thread running through; the other was electric blue and glittered silver. Automatically he was drawn to the red - the colour was similar to that of Prowl's chevron - but the blue would suit his own style more. He could only guess what Prowl was planning - the ribbon would be too delicate to securely bind him, but maybe it was more a decorative addition? Prowl had a lot of ideas about his pet looking pretty...

"Jazz, it's not a trick question," sighed Prowl as the delay stretched on.

"The blue then," said Jazz. "But I feel like I'm bein' led into a trap." 

"I bet you will like the consequences regardless," said Prowl, subspacing the ribbons and opening his other palm. "Pick." 

This time, Jazz was displayed chips of semi precious stones, in similar colours to the ribbons. Hedging his bets, he picked the ruby red option this time and Prowl tucked the chips away with an ambivalent nod. 

"Ya gonna have to give me more of a clue," said Jazz, feeling more than a little bemused. "This some sort of a play thing?" 

Prowl smiled again and did not confirm or deny, which Jazz suspected was a confirmation in itself. "It is a present," he said instead. 

"For me?" Jazz perked up. The last time Prowl had got him a present it had ended very pleasantly for both of them. True to his job description, the mech had some good ideas. 

Again no denial. "You will wait and see." 

* * *

Nothing more was mentioned for some time, and while Jazz didn't forget he didn't pick up many clues either.

One off-shift, as they relaxed frame to frame in their berth, Prowl pinged him across a calendar invite. 

"I'm lit'rally right next to ya, Prowler," Jazz complained, but accessed the request anyway. "What ya got planned that needs two cycles free?" 

"We have a guest," said Prowl, not looking up from the datapad that not even having the warm weight of Jazz against his flank could separate him from.

Jazz pouted, momentarily, and shimmied a little closer so as to be harder to ignore. "A guest? Who?" Prowl huffed at the invasion of his space and ignored him. "Ah come on, Prowler, don't leave me hangin'."

"That would ruin the surprise." He paused and added, "I assure you, you will enjoy it." 

That wasn't so much Jazz' concern - if Prowler was organising a play session it would be an inevitable exercise in bliss and torture and Jazz would come out the other side feeling like his processors had been scrubbed clean and his gyroscopes were all afloat - but he didn't like having a secret left unturned. It rankled.

"Come on," whined Jazz, wriggling even closer so his thigh was cast over Prowl's lap. This earned him a sharp glance but no reprimand, so he leaned in to nip at a pulsing throat cable. 

"Nuisance," said Prowl fondly, batting him away. "But I'm not telling." 

"If I guess will you tell me?" Jazz thought for a moment. "Ratchet?" It had been fun the last time the medic had played, enough to make his internal temperature click up a degree now, but it garnered no response from his mate. "'Hide? Smokey?"

"Even if you do guess, I'm still not telling," said Prowl, mock severely. He was enjoying this, Jazz realised, liked having a bit of an edge even when they weren't playing officially. 

Jazz rattled off a few other designations - both of the Twins, 'Jack, even Red Alert and Inferno - but Prowl remained annoyingly unmoved. Finally he sat up and pretended to huff in a sulk. "Ain't no fun when you ain't playin' back." 

It was a calculated move, because acting recalcitrant and sulky never failed to make Prowler respond and this was no different. As Jazz held his hunched sulky pose, he could see Prowl's attention focusing more and more on him, finally setting his datapad down and leaning up to brace over Jazz' slumped shoulders. 

"Pouting isn't very attractive, pet," he warned in the low rumble that went right through to Jazz' struts. "Are you sulking because you didn't get what you want?" 

Feeling mischievous, Jazz simply huffed again, his fuel pump picking up speed when Prowl cleaved closer, leant more weight over his shoulders. His field draped over them like a blanket, choking and possessive and increasingly hungry. 

"Jazz..." crooned Prowl, all bass and danger. The shiver that went down Jazz' spinal struts was wholly uncontrollable. "Look at me, pet." 

His helm turned almost of its own accord, so Prowl's impassive face was visible. 

"Listen, my little spoiled pet," said Prowl, "You'll find out when I'm good and ready. Not a moment before. And -" His hand slithered around and squeezed lightly over the front of Jazz' throat, making his vocaliser jump with static. "If I find you trying to nosy around on your own accord, there will be a punishment you  _ won't _ enjoy." He abruptly moved away and Jazz wobbled in place at the sudden loss of heat and sensation. "Understood?" 

He went to pick up his datapad again, and Jazz inwardly pouted for real. 

"Maybe," he said coyly, feeling a bloom of satisfaction as the datapad abruptly lurched back to the berth sheets and Prowl's right optic twitched. "But maybe I need a demonstration." 

"Spoiled," repeated Prowl, but this time he willingly went for the lure. 

Jazz forgot about his curiosity, just as promised, but then again it was hard to remember anything when you were being fragged quite so thoroughly. 

* * *

The 'Day of Judgement,' as Jazz had taken to calling it in order to aggravate Prowl, had only been a couple orns away, but the time had seemed to crawl irregardless. 

He had remained horribly curious, but Prowl's demonstration had been thorough and made more than a little impact. Jazz had been as good as gold, but as the cycle dawned, his excitement had become palpable. 

Prowl, of course, had remained calm and impassive and seemed to not mind the slightly manic energy Jazz had acquired, although the increased volume of his music had earned a quiet scowl. Jazz was normally a pretty chill mech, but sometimes it was nice to let anticipation get a hold of him for the novelty factor at the very least. Plus it gave Prowl a little more to work with, and Jazz knew the mech liked a challenge, so he didn't try to temper his actions too much.

On a normal night, it wouldn't have taken too long for Prowl to have Jazz semi at his mercy, if not fully on his knees and already starting to pant for it. This time Jazz was playing hard to get. He'd ignored a few careful ploys to get him to sit down in Prowl's reach, had even pretended to not notice a flirty beckoning gesture and had danced through the arch into their berthroom instead.

Prowl had followed, living up to his name as he slunk in, face fixed in a stern frown. He waited by the door, like an ambush predator, and Jazz let the chorus of his song pass - it was a good tune! - before he wandered into grab range like it was accidental. 

There was a brief scuffle - Prowl had gone in hard on the lunge, and Jazz had nearly lost his footing before he was hauled onto the berth - and then Jazz found himself lying flat on his back with Prowl leaning over him on all fours like something feral. 

"Lie still," Prowl growled, and the urge to obey came all over Jazz, like it never did with any other mech. Prowl knew things, Prowl was trustworthy and if Jazz couldn't listen to him he couldn't listen to anyone. His speakers subsided and his music clicked off, but there was still a rime of excitement over his field that he was too far gone to control. Prowl noticed it instantly and clicked his glossa in mock despair. 

"I have barely taught you any manners, have I?" He sat up, clearly satisfied that Jazz would remain mostly still. “By all rights I should be punishing you,” said Prowl, almost conversationally. “Not giving you such a nice surprise. Acting like such an ill-mannered hooligan, when I’m arranging such a nice treat for you.”

Here was the edge to his voice, which indicated Jazz should be very careful which way he stepped. There were times he would purposefully tread on whatever landmine Prowl was telegraphing, because there was something to be said for being taken in hand and stripped back to the spark, but his curiosity still held too strong. He wanted to know what the plan was!

Obediently he managed to still the rest of his frame, disengaging a few gears to do so, and directed his best pleading expression in Prowl’s direction.

“Better, you ungrateful creature,” said Prowl. “Will you behave while we prepare you?”

“Prepare?” said Jazz, then abruptly caught himself. “I mean, yeah, Prowler - I’ll be good.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” grumbled Prowl, but was kind enough to say nothing else of his slip. “Would you like you part of your present then?”

“Somethin’ for me?” He grinned. “Of course!”

Without much of a flourish, Prowl unsubspaced two items and tossed each on the sheets either side of Jazz’ head. He had to crane to peer at what his Prowl had chosen to gift him. 

To his right was a reel of shiny, glittery blue ribbon, the same colour that he had picked out all those orns ago. There was enough to tie him hand and foot, if Prowl so chose to, and the idea that he might be trussed up in the pretty delicate ribbon but forced to depend on his own self-control to not snap it straight away was enough to make him lick his lips.

Then he looked to the other side and found the other choice he had made lying heavily amid their rucked sheets. The shiny red gem was placed delicately on the end of the biggest damn aft plug he had ever laid his greedy optics on. It was a bright matte metal, tapered from a rounded tip to a thickness Jazz dared not consider too closely, abruptly reduced back to a thin stem and the pretty base.

“Prowler, I…” He stuttered, and caught his vents as the mech atop him leant his weight further down. “ _ Prowl… _ Thank you, Prowl.”

Prowl smiled, in that short sharp way that meant he was getting more comfortable in his role as the big bad master, and Jazz felt his own processors slip towards the corresponding role of pet in return.

“You made good choices,” said Prowl, “The blue suits you. Do you want the rest of it?”

Jazz tore his gaze away from the plug, which was really occupying a lot of his attention. “There's  _ more _ ?”

This time the produced item was a small packet, dropped into Jazz’ palm. 

“Open it, pet,” said Prowl, and Jazz obeyed with fingers that only trembled slightly. Inside was a narrow little bar, in a dark grey metal, and Jazz might have not realised what it was but for the six other items; delicate platinum hoops.

“Oh!” It had been a while since he had – admittedly drunkenly – mentioned to Prowl that he thought the idea of valve piercings were pretty hot, and a few orns less when Prowl had brought up the idea when they were both sober. In retrospect Jazz hadn’t needed to be so surprised that Prowl might enjoy the idea of something so marking, given how many bite marks he'd had buffed out of his cabling. Regardless Jazz had ended up with a lot of new bling – six piercings which were currently dark titanium studs and a seventh handsome little hoop right over the hood of his anterior node. He liked them all a whole bunch, especially the latter which sent streaks of fire through his sensornet when Prowl tugged it. 

“A change would be very pleasing,” said Prowl, ”What do you think?”

His voice was mysteriously wobbly. “I like ‘em pretty fine, Prowl. Do you?”

That sharp, nasty smile again. “Good pet. I do. Shall I put them in for you?”

“If you want, Prowl,” he mumbled, a sudden unexplainable heat rising in his systems at the thought of Prowl replacing the original studs with jewellery of his own choosing.

Prowl leant down over him again, engine purring darkly, and kissed him, dentae sharp on his lips. He murmured something about how Jazz was such as good pet – a bolt of pride coursed along his cabling and then he started to get that shimmering, calm feeling replacing that bounding pulse of excitement. Prowl had the best ideas after all, and all he had to do was behave to get at them. 

A few searing bites were laid over his throat cables, over those spots where Prowl liked to leave marks, and Jazz nearly jumped at the close range ping that landed in his inbox. A request for a sit-rep, which he responded to with his own all-clear and felt his mate smile against his neck before he sat up and reached down to grope over Jazz’ codpiece. 

“Open up, pet,” he ordered, and Jazz couldn't hide his flush when his panel snapped open.

“Eager,” taunted Prowl, “Have I been neglecting you recently, pet?”

“No,” whimpered Jazz, but explaining that he was just so hot for the idea of Prowl right now was beyond his processors. Prowl would ask follow-up questions, and Jazz’ vocaliser felt numb already.

Prowl seemed pleased by his capitulation and levered up off his frame, crouching between his spread thighs and lifting them around the width of his hips. He fixed Jazz’ array with a slow considering look, that made him want to wriggle and writhe, and then tugged slowly on the solitary hoop through his anterior node.

“Shall we start here?"

Jazz nodded, biting his lip to hold in the squeak of pleasure.

“You must lie still, like a good mech,” warned Prowl, his digits tracing an almost clinical path down between his valve lips. “Understand?”

“Yes, Prowl," he croaked.

“Well done, Jazz,” said Prowl. He was being kind this time; some small part of Jazz had enough sense left to notice and realise this could only mean worse things were coming. Then he undid the lowest stud and Jazz had to focus on not twitching and fidgeting under the attention. 

With the clinical care of someone tweezing the last few pieces of a model into place, Prowl replaced the studs with the hoops, tugging each one he had set into place. The hoop through this node was changed last, and the bar stung as it sunk through and then went numb when the other barbel was screwed into place. Prowl twiddled it a few times until it was secured to his satisfaction and then slapped his palm over Jazz’ exposed array.

“What a pretty sight you make,” he observed. “Perhaps I should dress you up like this more often, ask Sunstreaker to paint a picture. I suspect he’d be willing if I offered your aft to him in return”

Jazz bleated something, unsure if he was denying or asking for it, but Prowl wasn’t interested in his complaints.

“Make yourself of service, and get into a more useful position.” Prowl collected the spare jewellery and got up to drop it on one of their shared footlockers. Jazz was left with the decision of what was a useful position – if he was to ‘sit pretty’ kneeling over his crossed heels was an acceptable choice, but ‘useful’ hadn’t been an option previously. He glanced over and spotted the plug sitting there, rocking gently at the shift of weight on the berth, and guessed wildly.

When Prowl re-emerged from his task, Jazz was kneeling on his elbows and knee pads, helm ducking subserviantly and aft high up on display.

A servo clapped a stinging print across his aft. He jolted and bit back the curse that curled in his vocaliser, clenching his fists until the pain faded to a warm ache. 

“Smart little thing, aren’t you? Or did you just know that I like your aft that much?" A slick thumb digit rubbed over the furled iris of his port, rough and carelessIy stinging when it sunk in. Jazz knew better than to complain, not at this stage, and another swear word died in his throat. The sting eased quickly anyway and then the stretch was unsatisfying – Prowl was evidently in no rush to fill him quickly. He fragged Jazz’ aft slowly, thumb first and then switching to one and then two of his well lubed digits. He didn't move to touch Jazz’ valve at all – this was not for Jazz’ benefit after all, but his own pleasure and Jazz knew he had to be grateful that Prowl might give him anything in return. He might not even do that, leave Jazz hanging and desperate instead.

He whimpered a little into the sheets at the thought.

By the time Prowl was adding a third digit, it was almost a hypnotising rhythm, and Jazz felt slack and empty He was drenched in lubricant, a whole messy handful of it, and his valve was nearly dripping. He must be a sloppy mess, but his Prowl seemed to enjoy it, twisting his wrist to get the most obscene noises and provoke extra droplets of slick to bead on his valve mesh. When he pulled back, Jazz’ aft felt open and aching, and there was no way the iris of his port could squeeze closed after such a thorough ravaging, but he tried.

“Leave it open,” said Prowl, with another slap across his aft, just catching the edge of his abused protoform with his fingertips. Jazz squeaked again. “What a pretty noise.“

“Please Prowl!” he begged, no idea what he meant. Another slap, and he sobbed in desperation and despair.

Prowl chuckled and leant forward, his weigh a comforting blanket over Jazz’ back. For a second, he held his vents in anticipation of Prowl’s spike sliding into him, filling him deep, but there was no touch of charged protoform to protoform. Instead he reached out and picked up the plug, tossing the weight of it so it clanged back into his palm with a solid ring.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and this was accompanied by a soft nudge over his comms. Jazz had enough wherewithal to ping back the ‘all clear’ signal again, but outwardly he whimpered and struggled to control his hitching vents.

“This will be good preparation for our guest,” said Prowl conversationally, as if he wasn’t pouring lube over a toy big enough to strain even Jazz’ limits. “You’re going to work hard for me to take this. To show me that I can be proud of you.”

The rounded end of the plug was nearly width of Prowl’s three digits, but heavier and somehow more insistent. Jazz panted steam into the sheets as it pressed in, opening him slowly until it met resistance.

It was not too bad initially, Prowl merely played with it - rolling and turning the end - and dripping more oil down the bulb whenever he saw fit, until Jazz array was soaked, slick raining down his thighs. The first deeper push was more of a shock and Jazz couldn't help but tense and whine.

“Enough of that,” said Prowl, not unkindly. He paused and gently turned the beastly thing instead, pulling back and easing in to the same depth again. “You’ve managed more before now.”

“I can’t,” gasped Jazz. “I’ll break!”

“You can if I say you can,” responded Prowl, letting the weight sink the bulb down a little further and ignoring Jazz’ keen. “And if I wanted you broken, pet, then you had better break.”

Jazz sobbed, but knew Prowl was right – if he was to be broken and reduced to a wreck, there was no one else who he would rather do it. Prowl would put him back together, better than ever. The thought robbed him of some of his tension, and the plug eased deeper, to the limit of how far it would go without pressure. Prowl made a contented noise, and went back to the slow rhythm of twisting, pushing, pulling, slipping it completely out on one pass to dip his digits in almost curiously. Jazz was his plaything, shivering and panting soft words that didn’t make any sense.

It felt like an indeterminable time before the width of the toy was too great, and Jazz felt electric-shock like tremors when Prowl pinged the stem with his digits.

“A little more,” he said and sent the request for clearance again. Jazz’ garbled processor responded immediately. “Do you think you can be a good mech and take the rest?”

“No, “Jazz whined, because he was aching and split open already, and anymore was torment to think about, but at the same time, the thought of being so full and decked out for Prowl’s pleasure made him gasp, “Yes,” on the next vent.

“Difficult decision, hmm?” Prowl traced the rim of his port with soft digits. “You like to hurt for me don’t you?”

Anything for you,” whined Jazz. He wanted to reach out and grab for Prowl, clutch tight to his armour and tuck himself into the security therein, but he’d be rebuffed if he tried now. They both needed him to  _ need _ it first. 

“Right.”

That last push was the worst and the best feeling Jazz could imagine. His port tried to resist the pressure, but the metal plug was too smooth and slick, and the iris had no strength to hold back any longer. He dropped his face into the berth and wailed, low and strained, as the widest part eased through and then his port tubing distended under the dimensions of the thing. His pelvis felt heavy and full, even with his valve dripping emptily; convulsions shook his frame, something like an overload but with none of the charge. Every time his frame shook, the plug slipped deeper, until just the broad base was crammed up against his port..

The clearance call cut through the jumbled delirium in his processors like a beacon. For a few moments his mind was too garbled to say whether he was all right or not, pain and lust and shame and desperation all blended together in blinding confusion. He whined, unsure, and suddenly there was a soft weight on his mid-back, stroking down his struts in slow reassuring patterns. The contact was grounding enough and he called his status as clear.

“Lovely,” sighed Prowl, “”You look so good screaming for me.” HIs servo trailed down over Jazz’ aft and tugged briefly on the jewelled end. Jazz mustered another howl at the rock of the weight in his belly, strange pressure rubbing sensors he couldn’t even describe. “Such a good pet, able to take something like this up your aft. Am I cruel to you?”

“Yes,” Jazz whispered, gratitude clouding his voice.

“Exactly what you want.” Prowl’s weight changed behind him as he sat back, and delivered a soft slap to his aft. Instinctively his protoform clenched, and the plug squeezed tight on his internal structures. “But here you are getting all the fun out of this. Don’t you think you owe me something in return? What do you think I should take?”

Jazz was lost. “Anything, I’m yours.”

Prowl scoffed, but the sound was pleased. “Maybe I haven’t done such a terrible job training you after all. As pretty as the answers you have been giving me sound, I think I’ll take your valve. Come here.”

Jazz squawked with surprise as his elbows were grasped and he was hauled back and upright. For a moment, it felt like his pedes would give way, and his thighs shook uncomfortably. Gravity pulled the plug, slipping it down a short distance, and instinctively his port tightened again; every fuse in his pelvis lit up with excruciating sensation. Prowl gave no indication of his distress and there was the soft snick of his own array plating opening. 

“Up,” Prowl commanded, and yanked Jazz’ elbows a little higher so he had to lurch up uncomfortably on his toe pads: Prowl’s spike could then nose along his array and bump his new valve jewellery.

“Sweet little slut, you’re soaking for me,” sighed Prowl, affectionately and sank his spike deep without a warning word. Jazz squealed, every sensor lighting up like a constellation and jostling the brutal weight of the plug in his channel.

“You are tight today,” hissed Prowl, shunting up a little more. “Maybe that plug has other uses than filling your slutty aft.”

This was the worst sort of pleasure, and by far Jazz’ favourite - Prowl’s spike was thick and pressurised to a titanium-solid degree, and he knew exactly how to use it to make Jazz want to scream. With both of his arms held so tightly, there was no way to reach down and touch his node, and he was forced to teeter on the tips of his pedes and accept what was given to him. Prowl had no compunctions for his balance and thrust up into him roughly, plunging as deep as he could and pulling nearly fully out on the back thrust. The low armour on his belly clattered against the end of the plug every time, and Jazz couldn't even try to stop his cries in response. It was like he was being fucked up the valve and aft at the same time; some behemoth taking his port in jostling heaving waves in time to Prowl’s rough thrusts.

He was a whore and Prowl knew it, sneered at him that he was a slut and a plaything, getting so worked up from having his aft filled and his valve fucked, only useful for writhing on Prowl’s spike. Filthy words spilled into his sensitive audials, every word a burning truth, and the obscenity of the situation built up in his core like a wave coming to shore.

“Overload, then,” Prowl hissed, “Show me that you’re my whore.”

The wave crested, his charge brimming and throbbing, and then - nothing. Like a vacuum stealing his charge and his moan was distraught and confused.

Prowl laughed. “I’m shocked it’s taken you that long to find the second job of this piercing.” He reached around, letting one of Jazz’s elbows go lax, and tweaking the bar piercing Jazz’ node. “Smart little invention this is. Dumps your charge when it reaches a critical level, which might be a shame for you but feels great for me.”

He shoved Jazz forward roughly, so that he lost balance on his tiptoes and staggered halfway onto the berth again, knee hydraulics abruptly losing pressure. There was no spare time to recover before Prowl descended on him again, hauling him over onto his back and bulling in between his thighs again to restart his pace. He grasped Jazz’ hips to pull him back onto every thrust so it was just as deep, and Jazz tossed his helm back as his ceiling node was hammered. 

Prowl put his spinal struts into it, pounding Jazz’ valve until he was squeaking again, feeling the burn of his charge spiralling higher and higher and, once again, nothing. His valve tried to spasm regardless, clenching in a mimic of overload and Prowl groaned.

“Look at me!” he barked, clenching his hands tighter, and the next few thrusts hammered in so hard Jazz yelped. He could just about manage to tilt his helm enough to look at Prowl’s lovely, handsome face, focused so intently back on Jazz’ expression. He must have seen something he liked a lot, because the next thrust spilled a hot jet of transfluids deep into Jazz’ valve, scalding over his sensors in a thick wave. Prowl leant in closely, so their bumpers clattered together and ground his hips in a tight little circle as he overloaded, panting obscene words over Jazz’ chest. 

When the last droplets of fluid eased into Jazz’ sensitive valve, Prowl eased himself back upright and grinned down at Jazz. His own face didn;t seem to be under any conscious control, especially when Prowl tugged on the inhibitor piercing.

“Shall we move on?” he crooned, and Jazz reset his optics in confusion. “Reach up with your left hand for me.”

Jazz did as he was told and his digits brushed smooth, flexible metal. What he held out to his Prowl was the roll of ribbon, silver threads glimmering as his hand shook. Prowl took it and shook it to unwind it into two separate lengths, draping it over Jazz’ belly. 

“Keep yourself tight for me.” Prowl pulled back slowly, letting his spike slip free. Obediently Jazz clenched as tightly as he could, shuddering when the movement spread to his aft and squeezed down on the plug as well. “Time to wrap you up, my pretty pet.”

Jazz craned to watch, stunned and vents roaring, as Prowl carefully plaited the ribbons through the hoop piercings, tugging gently but firmly to keep the plait tight. He finished his work with a neat bow looped over the ends of the inhibitor piercing, and then flipped him to finish by double looping it around the stem of the aftplug. He seemed enchanted by the sight, and tugged on the ribbon reflectively as he looks. It pulled on Jazz’ swollen mesh, tugs his anterior node in sharp little jerks until he nearly bit through his lower lip.

“Beautiful,” Prowl said finally. “Almost a shame to close your panels over it, but you’ll ruin the upholstery otherwise.”

Jazz stared up in mute incomprehension. His Prowl shook his helm, fondly, and reached up to stroke his cheek.

“Close your plates, pet, and come with me.”

As Prowl tidied himself up and tucked his spike away, Jazz managed to draw his array armour shut, wincing as it squeezed the end of the plug a little deeper. He just about made it off the berth, but the shift of the plug caused him to overbalance and buckle to his knees at Prowl’s pedes. 

“You just make me want to ruin you,” sighed Prowl affectionately, “Come along, pet, we have some time to wait before our guest arrives.”

Jazz was ordered to his cushion in the anteroom, with a command to sit pretty, and just about made it by crawling. Sitting upright dragged the weight of the plug down, changing the tension on the ribbon and the plait only served to exponentially increase the effect by the time it reached his node piercing. It was very difficult to sit pretty with his sensor net trying to build another run of charge and the slick sensation of lubricant, oil and transfluids beading on the inside of his plating, but the chaos of sensations only helped his descent into the quiet space in his mind. It made the time that Prowl wandered back and forth and paid him no attention at all feel immaterial.

Finally the mech returned to the anteroom and settled onto his normal side of the sofa, which had the best view of Jazz’ cushion to watch his debasement. Instead of activating the pad and watching as his pet gradually broke down, Prowl patted the seat beside him. 

“Come here, pet,” he said. 

The invitation was novel and took a moment to sink through Jazz’ clarity. Some instinct made his frame move before he could even try to puzzle out the meaning, and he crept up onto the sofa obediently.

Prowl pulled Jazz in to his thigh and looked down at his datapad, his hand falling to the nape of Jazz’ neck in a possessive and fond gesture. Digits crooked over his neck struts, like an owner might scratch the neck of a treasured pet, and the bliss of silence rushed into Jazz’ processor again, like a tide coming over a shore. 

He sighed and let his Prowl’s all-consuming field sweep him down.


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps they had started a little early but, in Prowl's defense, he had not been sure how long his master plan had been going to take and he had been keen to start. Almost as keen as Jazz had been at the idea of finally receiving his surprise.

Luckily he had seemed to enjoy the first half of it.

Now with Jazz lolling half on his lap, he couldn’t bring himself to be displeased about this wait. It was a special sort of satisfaction to have Jazz in this headspace, quiet and blank and malleable. He was a little more active than he normally might be, shifting and biting at his lips with quiet whimpers every so often, but Prowl had been the one to truss his array up only half a joor before so he could forgive a few fidgets. 

The play had been a little rough perhaps – certainly the plug had been just the right side of too big, and he knew aftplay did far more for him than it did for Jazz anyway – so he hadn’t ordered his pet to sit pretty on the floor like an expensive statue for too long, but had permitted the close affectionate contact instead. When Jazz' crystal clear field ever looked like it was dipping into discomfort, he would settle him back down with a slow scratch at the nape of his neck or a slow stroke down the curved length of his back. It was gratifying to feel the change seep back over his pet in response to whatever simple touch he offered. It was almost hypnotising in its own way, and he hadn’t made any progress on his datapad by the time the doorbell pinged for access.

Prowl granted it without getting up, loathe to disturb his lapful just yet. Their guest paced through the door, moving surprisingly quietly for such a big mech, and took the spare seat proffered.

“You’ve been busy,” said the Prime, amusement faint in his voice as he surveyed his lieutenants.

“A lack of preparation is asking for failure,” said Prowl, mock severely. 

“Always a pragmatist,” said Optimus, with a wry expression about his optics. It made him look a little less stately, and a lot more like the easily amused mech Prowl knew was hidden under the weight of his god-given duty.

Against his lap, Jazz stirred again, alerted by the Prime’s voice, and he peered across the space in vague bemusement. He had once described it as operating through a fuzzy blanket - that he was aware of what was happening, but was too cozy and warm and wrapped up to respond. If he had recognised the Prime, Prowl knew he would have been very pleased at their visitor. Both Prowl and Jazz had both had encounters with the Prime previously - there was something unmentionably magnetising about the leader. Jazz had had him on his ‘please let him ruin me, I want to take his spike until I can’t sit right for joors ‘ list for some time. As he was at the moment, he made a contented soft noise and tucked his face back into the pillow of Prowl’s lap.

“This is a remarkable talent you have,” said the Prime, watching the movement with curious optics. “Do you think that you could reproduce it in some of the more long winded command meetings?"

Prowl chuckled. “Only if no one minds the optic-ful they would be getting. Anyway, he is capable of sitting still when he feels like it. You just have to make him  _ want _ it."

“I, for one, wouldn’t mind an optic-ful.” The Prime leaned forward. “Jazz?”

Prowl gave his pet a nudge. “Answer your Prime,” he advised, letting a little steel creep into his tone. Roused, Jazz eased up onto his elbows and looked across the gap again, face twitching as the movement moved his hips.

“Come here, pretty,” rumbled Optimus. Prowl was pleased – he had given the mech a thorough briefing complete with footnotes – when he had initially accepted the invitation, and it was pleasing to know it had been read and understood. 

With a brief glance to Prowl – who granted him a short nod - Jazz slithered to his pedes. His expression briefly morphed into shock and despair as the movement shifted the weight of that lovely brutal plug inside and his knees visibly quaked inwards. Prowl pinged him and nodded again when he received the 'all clear'. He wanted to break the mech down, not damage him. 

“What have you been doing to him?” laughed the Prime, leaning back in his seat and extending a hand to guide Jazz onto his lap. He seemed pleased to have a lapful of obedient, shivering mech, and his optics hungrily surveyed his TIC.

“We had time,” said Prowl ambivalently. “You’ll see soon enough.”

His leader didn’t seem to mind his cagey refusal to let the full truth slip, but then when Jazz was peering at your face plates with that expression, it was always difficult to care about much else.

“Pet, show your Prime how much you want him to play with you. He’ll need a reason to pay attention to a toy like you.”

Jazz whined breathily and inclined in, bumping his chest to Prime’s broad windshield, wriggling his knees down into the space beside Optimus' thighs so he could get his array closer to his codpiece. The Prime relaxed back into the chair further and let the pet writhe and debase himself further for even a scrap of attention.

Prowl liked watching Jazz with other mechs – especially when it had been his planning that had achieved it, knowing that Jazz had dropped his berth hopping ways for Prowl only to find himself at the mercy of others anyway. Some mechs could give Jazz a little something extra that Prowl couldn't - mostly bulk and weight he simply didn't have - but not one came close to doing to Jazz what he could. This was a level of reassurance his ego liked. 

Watching Jazz pant keenly over the Prime, digits caressing his windshield and vents in curious little circles was gratifying. Jazz was a pretty sight and Optimus wasn't too bad himself, and both of both of them were here by his commands… Prowl  _ liked _ being in charge. 

The Prime didn't deign to remove his battlemask yet, so Jazz was left pressing his plush mouth plates to the hard angles instead. From his position Prowl could see that the Prime was not unmoved; his digits curved around the angle of a hip and aft, groping without overtly being seen to grope. Really, Prowl had to commend the mech’s self- control – staying in character was hard with Jazz writhing like a whore in his lap. 

The Prime’s vents finally rumbled on with a dull roar, spilling out a soft billow of steam. Jazz was already starting to run hot again, engine turning over with little hiccups as he ground his covered array against the codpiece beneath him.

“Perhaps we should move to the berth,” suggested Prowl mildly. He was keen for the reaction to his hard work earlier, keen to see what he could persuade Optimus to do to Jazz’ willing frame.

The Prime stood, clapping one big servo across Jazz’ pert aft and lifting him against his chest with ease. Jazz made a noise somewhere between a moan and shriek, and flung his arms around the Prime's shoulders to hold on.

“Lead the way,” rumbled the Prime, as if he wasn't hauling several tonnes of mostly limp sportscar.

Prowl had tidied the berthroom after their play earlier on, changed the sheets to a fresh set. “Drop your armful there. Jazz, you can show the Prime your new trick.”

Jazz yelped again when he was dropped onto the berth, flopping into an undignified heap and pouting up at Prowl. His optics were big and despairing behind his visor, which was always what Prowl liked to see but not when his pet was being slow to behave.

“Pet!” he snapped, clicking his digits. “You figured it out earlier, get yourself into a useful position.”

On another session, Prowl might have critiqued the slow, graceless slide Jazz embarked on to get to his knees and elbows as directed, but they had an audience, and the anticipation of the reveal was too great.

“Panels open,” he ordered, enjoying the flush of power as Jazz' immediately obeyed.

He watched the Prime’s face, as opposed to the reveal itself, feeling another bolt of satisfaction at the stunned expression that crossed the parts of that stately face that he could see. There was a whispered click, and the battlemask slid away as the Prime rubbed a servo over his own chin in consideration.

“You  _ have _ been hard at work,” he commented, not taking his optics from the glorious vision Prowl had made of Jazz’ array. Prowl took a look himself, - the jewel on the aft plug glowed like a ruby in the low light and the plaits remained immaculate, but the electric colour of the ribbon was dampened to a dark royal blue with the steady leak of fluids and lubricants. The colour and contrast was very flattering on Jazz' pale grey protoform. "Primus…”

He reached out and stroked a big forefinger down the run of plaited ribbon. Jazz groaned.

“And this!” he tapped the base of the aft plug. "I’ve never fragged an aft port before you know.”

Prowl doubted this severely, but he decided not to question it.

“Personally, I would recommend the experiences,” he said, “But then I do have a predilection, isn’t that right pet?”

Jazz’ “Yes, Prowl,” was muffled by the sheets but suitably prompt. He rewarded the shivering pet with a pat on the thigh.

The bottle of lubricating oil was near enough for him to grab and he tossed it across to Optimus. “You’ll need this.”

There was a momentary hesitation, as the Prime seemed to consider the size difference between his own frame and that of the mech knelt on the sheets in front of him.

“Cold pedes?” Prowl teased, “What a shame after all the hard work I put in to getting him ready. “

“You make it seem like a hard task."

Prowl grinned and reached out to rock the end of the plug in place. Jazz made that same lovely stunned noise again, like there wasn’t enough air in the room for his vents. “For one of us it was. I bought this especially to get him all open and slick; it would be a shame to let it go to waste.” He withdrew and shruggly blithely. “But he has a valve and a mouth. If you’d prefer."

Optimus’ bright optics had barely flickered from the glimmering red gem. “If you did do a good job…”

“Take a look,” suggested Prowl, sensing he might yet get his way. “You can always try, and if you don’t like it, our pet has a few ways to make up for it, don’t you?”

Jazz whined a yes.

“He’s keen," said Prime, contemplatively. “It would be a shame to disappoint him."

Slowly, the Prime undid the loops of ribbon which secured the back end of the plait and let them drop loose. He eased his digits under the edge of the plug’s flared end, and Prowl eased a bit closer to listen to Jazz’ soft whimpers as he was tested gently. He probably didn’t need much more oil, given how soaked Prowl had left him and how well stretched his port had been, but Optimus was liberal with the stuff. The plug came free slowly; Jazz’ body apparently loathe to give it up. Prowl permitted his pet to clutch at his nearby knee for comfort at the sudden stretch of his port around the wide end, panting and wailing nonsensical sounds. 

Finally it came free with a soft lurch, and an obscene dribble of oil; the ruination of his aft port was fully visible, the port slack and open, unable to do more than squeeze faintly. It was a filthy contrast to the tight plait of the ribbon through his valve piercings below.

“That is a good job,” said the Prime thoughtfully. He considered the size of the plug briefly and tossed it to the berthtop, popping his plating open at the same time. “I can see what your plan for your pet was.”

“Subtlety can be overrated.” Prowl watched greedily as the Prime’s big spike pressurised in steady quick pulses, until it stood proud from his body. Although it wasn’t his role tonight, he could still recall the sensation of that spike slamming into his valve, raking his sensor plexus brutally on every thrust. Jazz had once recounted a very similar experience to him, sighing and dewy optic’d over the memory. It was Prowl’s goal to replace that with this new encounter. 

Certainly, when the blunt tip of the Prime’s spike pressed up against his aft port, Jazz made a small soft noise of anticipation and his grip on Prowl’s knee tightened. Maybe Prowl had been a bit over enthusiastic with the size of plug, but it had been a stationary object and the Prime’s spike was not only a corresponding size to his bulky frame but belonged to an experienced owner. For all his complaints that he had never fragged an aftport before, he seemed to know what he was doing - pressing gently into the slack rim of the port, testing out how loose it was, before slowly sinking further in. both of them were shivering by the time Optimus’ armour tapped to Jazz’ aft. 

Jazz went all sorts of strutless and desperate as Optimus started to frag him in earnest, retaining just enough hydraulic pressure to clutch at the sheets until they threatened to rip, but not enough to keep his knees underneath him. It didn’t matter to the convoy truck giving his aft port a work out – the Prime gripped his hips and held him exactly when he wanted him, regardless of the dead weight of his limbs. He had a lot of torque behind his thrusts, and Jazz was wholly at his mercy. Jazz was left bleating soft noises into his berthtop as he was ploughed so vigorously, field huge and blank and utterly silent.

This was as deep as Prowl could ever get him – the point where he was an empty vessel, waiting for whatever his master deigned to fill him up with, and it was possibly the most gratifying thing about the situation. Prowl’s own spike popped against the inside of his codpiece keenly, but he declined to release it yet, instead shuffling a little closer so he could pet the nape of Jazz’ neck again. Without even prompting for it, he received an ‘all-clear’ ping and smiled to himself.

“How do you like your first taste?” he asked, his vocaliser croaking. “Don’t feel obliged to only make use of his aft…”

The Prime gave him a short look but would not be distracted from his task. “I’ll stick right where I am, thank you.” He hammered home a series of thrusts that nearly drove Jazz further up the bed, stopped only by the grip on his hips.

The other attribute Prowl had to give kudos for was the Prime’s stamina. Prowl suspected he himself would have overloaded by this time; certainly Jazz’ frame had attempted to reach its peak but had been robbed by the inhibitor bar through his anterior node at least twice now. If allowed to Prowl didn’t doubt that the Prime could keep up his pace for joors.As much as he liked breaking Jazz - dragging him to the edge and shredding him down - he had no urge to do any damage. And anyway, the pet had done all that had been asked of him as best he could. He deserved a reward.

“Let me show you how good it can feel,” he suggested, “Nothing like having a mech overload from you fragging their aft to boost your ego.”

“This explains a lot about you, Prowl,” rumbled the Prime, but he eased his pace back to a slow grind of his hips. “And how do you do that?”

The remote control for the inhibitor chip in the bar piercing was small and simple – an on-off switch at best. Prowl owed Wheeljack a significant favour for inventing it. There was even a tiny LED bar below the switch to indicate how high the charge was and Prowl could see Jazz was simmering along nicely in the midrange. He flicked the button off.

“Frag him hard,” he said, and the Prime did, hauling wide hips back into every hard thrust forward, so that their armour colliding threw up sparks. Jazz’ face pressed to Prowl’s inner thigh, panting hot and wet over his armour as he was jostled. When Prowl slipped two digits into his open mouth, his glossa twined over them loosely, processors too baffled by the brutal input from his array to focus on anything else.

“Good pet,” he crooned, bending down a little closer to ensure Jazz’ sensitive audials picked up the affection even as stunned as he was. “ What a good toy you are. You can overload , my Jazz, make sure your Prime feels it.”

He pulled his fingers free just in time to avoid being bitten, when Jazz’ charge went off so hard the ozone of burning electricity was tangible in the air. He keened so loud and hard his vocaliser popped with the strain, fingers finally shredding the sheets. Lucky Optimus got the full brunt of it down the length of his spike. He kept up his pace through the hot flash and then had to slow to keep pace with the pulsing shudders that wracked Jazz’ frame in the aftermath. He kept thrusting, in deep sharp jabs, letting the limp frame in his hands finally drop to the berth surface, and his huge engine roared as his systems flared with overload. 

He had big tanks. Prowl wondered with a mind more delirious with lust than any serious inquiry if he reached down if would he feel Jazz’ belly bulge with the volume of transfluid poured into his internals. It took a long time for the Prime to seem replete, shuffling up so he straddled Jazz’ thighs, the tip of his spike still buried in his sloppy aftport.

“Pass me that,” said Optimus, gesturing;Prowl followed his gaze and grinned with agreement.

The plug pressed into position easily, when Optimus pulled his spike clear, and even the brutal width of it slipped past with little resistance. Only one thin trickle of silvery transfluid escaped before Jazz was all sealed up again. The Prime even re-tied the metal ribbon back into place and, as he did, Prowl could take absolutely no more.

His spike was pressurising even before his plating had retracted fully, and Jazz’ mouth was open and lax and hot. Sleepy, slow optics rolled behind dim visor, trailing up the length of Prowl’s torso but too exhausted to muster any movement.. There wasn’t much of the interaction Prowl would usually demand, but he had no patience for coaxing it out of Jazz at the moment. Instead he took advantage of the softness of his plush lips, pushing his spike onto the pillow of his tongue, still and silent. He rubbed against the inside of his upturned cheek, cupping the back of Jazz’ helm with one servo and taking his spike in hand with the other. He stroked himself only a couple of times and shivered as he felt the hot ache of overload start to creep through his hips. 

A big hand reached out and encompassed his own, rough from hand to hand combat and heavy weaponry, squeezing tighter that his own hand could. Prowl groaned at the extra sensation, stroking a heavy rhythm with an unfamiliar grip. He groaned and spilled there and there, the bursts spilling over Jazz’ tongue and dripped over his relaxed mouth. Optimus stroked him a little longer until Prowl had to push him away, too sensitive for anything else. 

“Mercy, mercy,” he panted, “Some of us don’t have your stamina.”

Optimus rumbled a laugh. “A good thing. I don’t think our third could take much more.”

True, Jazz was still sprawled, venting hard and dazed. Prowl’s transfluids still decorated his mouth, and the rest of his frame wasn’t in much better condition with paint scuffs and chips and oily lubricants. HIs field was still widespread and silent, an outward indication of the calm he had achieved within. Nevertheless they couldn’t leave him like that forever. 

He was going to suggest their next task, when he was stopped by a big hand crooking under his chin and lifting his face into a kiss from a gentle mouth. It was surprisingly chaste, and when he drew back Optimus looked almost shy. 

“Thank you for the surprise,” he said, optics earnest. “I can safely say Jazz has been one of my favourite gifts to unwrap.”

“Hmm,” said Prowl, with a smile. “You are welcome.”

“How shall I repay you both?”

“No need. This was no chore on my part, and, while I cannot speak for him, I suspect Jazz will have enjoyed your presence as well. Help me bring Jazz back to the real world, and consider us all equal.”

Taking Jazz down hard sometimes came with the consequence that he was difficult to bring back up, needing a lot of gentle touch and reassurance. But this time there were two mechs leaning over him, radiating warmth from their own overheated systems, two fields meshing with his own silent one. Perhaps the weight and majesty of the Matrix aided the situation as well, but certainly Prowl was impressed at the rate at which comprehension started to return to Jazz’ field, albeit muzzy and tired. 

“Enough lazing around, you.” Prowl nudged him. “Time to rise and shine. I’ve even made sure the solvent was pre-heated for your shower. Can’t say I do not treat you.”

Jazz reset his optics but did little more. Prowl sighed and bent over him, stroking his brow as he changed tack. His checking message was received, considered and returned with not only the ‘all-clear’ signal, but a single glyph meaning  _ tired _ . 

"Poor thing," he murmured. "We really wore you out this time." He cast his gaze down the bed. "But you need to get cleaned up and tucked in to nice clean sheets before you sack out." 

Another reset of the optics and Jazz murred his disagreement.

"Is this a sign that the first thing he gets back is the ability to argue with you? I doubt you'll get anywhere fast," rumbled the Prime. "Here.." 

With a bare minimum of effort he scooped Jazz into his broad arms; Prowl led the way through to the washrooms. With three mechs inside - one of them particularly large - it was a cozier squeeze than normal, but this was beneficial in that there was always someone there to hold Jazz on his feet. 

He remained silent and content, making soft noises of contentment as his lovers ran hot solvent over every inch of his frame, soaping him up with gentle tpuches an drinsing him clean. With the utmost care, Prowl went to his knees and extracted the aftplug, unwound the ribbon and removed the inhibitor piercing, setting them aside to deal with later. Jazz squirmed in discomfort when they carefully cleaned his array, twitching at the pressure on his swollen and bruised protoform, but purred again in pleasure when Prowl rose to his pedes again and kissed him in apology. 

"Take him for a moment," said Optimus, leaning all of the limp weight over Prowl's shoulders so he could quickly scrub himself off and shift all his plates back into the right arrangement. He took Jazz back to let Prowl do the same, and then together they dried off as best they could, admiring the chips and scrapes all three of them had sustained somehow. 

Prowl stripped the ruined sheets from the berth as the Prime was drying off his bigger frame, and replaced them with the third new set today. He hauled Jazz’ limp frame up and arranged him in the middle of the bed, letting him wriggle sleepily into the most comfortable position he could find. 

This was mostly on his side, a leg cast forward to remove the pressure from his abused array, and Prowl shuffled in behind him, folding his doorwings back so he could lie on his side and spoon him as best he could. Jazz made a satisfied sound and leant back into his presence a little more. 

"I shall be leaving you then," said Oprimus, leaning over to stroke over Jazz' flank. "Thank you - both - for the invitation, again." 

Prowl looked up sharply. "You aren't rota'd for a shift until the next cycle. Where are yoi going?" 

The Prime stared back. "I thought my part here was complete. I was leaving you two to relax..." 

"Nonsense!" huffed Prowl, "Why go recharge in an empty berth when there's plenty of room here?" 

"I did not want to intrude," he said, unsurely, but the temptation of a warm berth with clean sheets and pretty companions was clearly playing on him. 

Prowl rolled his optics. "You'll hardly be intruding. Not after what we just did. It would be more disturbing if you weren’t here and all three of us wake up cold.”

For a moment, the Prime prevaricated, but the desire to stay finally won out. Prowl eased himself back down as the berth shifted under the weight of a heavier frame than normal settling down as well. Over the curves of Jazz’ side, he could still see the bulk of Optimus’ body, shuffling and shifting as he tried to get comfortable. Finally he rolled to his flank to face them and cast a big arm over Jazz and Prowl both so all three were entangled. 

Recharge was moments away. 

* * *

Jazz woke, feeling warm and content and cosy. His aft ached, he’d definitely blown several fuses in his pelvis, but there was a heavy wash of contentment over his whole frame.

In front of him, when he onlined his optics, was a big frame radiating heat like a fire. Drowsily he considered his own reflection in the windshield panels of heavy glass and then glanced upwards to confirm indeed that this was the Boss ‘bot, recharging in a deep heavy sleep. Behind him was the familiar weight of Prowl, tucked as tightly to his back as his bumper would allow, making the soft satisfied snuffling noises that he did when he was sleeping well. They were pressed tightly to him, so there was barely any room to stretch his cramped, tired limbs, but he tried regardless and then subsided gratefully in their grasp again.

He had to hand it to Prowl - it had been a pretty damn good present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guess?

**Author's Note:**

> The equivalent to Christmas in space involves fucking your partner in every way possible and also inviting a friend to come help out. 
> 
> But which friend?


End file.
